


When The Snows Fall and The School Bell Rings

by kakashihatake123



Series: Songs of Snow [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After weeks of snow and cold and Christmas cheer Jon Snow and Sansa Stark have returned from Winterfell to University where they hope their lives will return to normal. But after moving into an apartment with Arya Stark and Gendry "He's-Not-My-Boyfriend" Waters, their thoughts change.</p><p>Sequel to <em>When The Snows Fall and The White Winds Blow.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving In

_ Chapter One _

The day Sansa moved her things into Jon’s apartment she was nothing but exhilarated. She had never lived with a boy before, except her brothers. But that didn’t really count.

Of course she and Jon were also living with Arya and Gendry, which meant that her life would be anything but boring. But still Sansa was happy.

As Sansa packed her things from her dorm room Margaery had spoken animatedly about her new relationship. “You are so lucky.” Said she. “Jon is hot. Really hot. All the girls are jealous. Be careful they don’t steal him away.”

But Sansa only smiled, knowing no amount of makeup or tight clothes could steal Jon from her. When Jon finished at work he came right over, Sansa able to hear his car sputtering up through the parking lot and she waved at him from the open window, seeing him smile even four stories and a hundred feet away.

Margaery and Jeyne Poole had watched Jon lifting the heavy boxes as closely as if they were watching an Oscar nominated film. Sansa could not blame them, feeling a bit woozy herself as she watched his muscles flex and harden as he lifted the boxes of her clothes or schoolbooks.

When it had become too hot and he had taken his jacket off the two girls had nearly fainted. Jon had grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at Sansa, stealing a kiss from her as she laughed and continued packing.

Jon had enlisted the help of two of his friends from the mechanic’s shop, Pip and Grenn, and with their help the packing was over and done with before the day had even ended.

“I’m so hot.” Jon said, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his arm.

“Yes you are.” Sansa cooed, slurping up the last bit of her soda.

“Are you patronizing me?” said Jon teasingly. He struck a racy pose.

“I need a shower.” She said. He stripped off his sweaty shirt and began to toe off his boots one by one until he was clad in only his red and white striped knickers. Then he struck an even more racy pose, kicking off his knickers. And that was the first time Arya had seen him naked.

“Would you knock!” said Sansa irritably. Upon the door slamming open Jon had done some sort of flip to the left and was currently army crawling across the floor to the bathroom with only one of Sansa’s scarves to cover himself. When the door slammed behind him the sisters dissolved into laughter.

“This is going to be fun.” Arya grinned malevolently.

“It’s all fun and games until someone sees the other one naked.” Sansa laughed as the shower turned on, a familiar creak running through the pipes. “Where’s Gendry?” she asked, moving to the kitchen.

The cabinets were empty save for a box of macaroni and cheese, a six pack, and a triangle of parmesan cheese. “He eats well doesn’t he?” Arya said sarcastically. “Gendry’s at rugby practice with Benjen. He should be back in an hour, why?”

“Because I plan to burst into his room, unannounced, and without knocking until I catch him naked.” Sansa said casually. Arya bristled. “What? You saw my boyfriend naked.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Arya said, as she always did.

“You’re right he’s your platonic roommate that you sleep with and also kiss when you think nobody is looking.” Sansa wiggled her eyebrows.

Jon called out from the shower. “Care to join?” he said. “And can you bring the shampoo?”

“That’s my cue to leave.” Arya said and grabbed her car keys from the bowl by the door. “See you later. I’m going by the market so call me if you need anything.”

“If I need anything?” said Sansa. “Unless we plan to eat moldy cheese and beer for dinner we will need something.”

Arya quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like a good dinner to me.” and slammed the door behind her.

Sansa would never stop loving the way Jon looked in the shower. With his hair three shades darker and not as curly, with his beard dripping beads of water, his strong chest soapy. Just the thought of it made Sansa’s knees weak.

She undressed and switched the radio on, turning the knob until she reached her favorite station. As she shimmied out of her knickers she heard Jon humming under his breath. She slipped into the shower shivering from the cold air and realized that Jon had the bathroom window propped open.

"It’s freezing.” She said, teeth chattering. But Jon warmed her up.

Sansa doubted she would ever get tired of his kisses. His beard scraped against her cheek as he kissed her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist and drawing her to him in the hot water. She wished he was still humming but his mouth was busy with other things and soon hers was too.

Sansa lost track of the music, of the water, of the cold. She lost track of everything except Jon’s lips on hers. Jon’s lips on her chest. Jon’s lips on her stomach. Jon’s lips on the part of her that only he had touched before. And when she looked up she realized she had left a steaming handprint on the shower door and would have laughed if Jon and his tongue had not first distracted her.

She buckled under his touch, her leg draped loosely over his broad shoulder. She could feel his movement beneath her, every twinge of his muscles, and every arch of her back only accentuated the feeling of pleasure.

“I love you.” He said, still breathless, as Sansa reached up to his dark hair, massaging sweet smelling shampoo into it.

She kissed the back of his shoulder. “I love you.” Her fingers were nimble and strong in his hair, thought Jon was so tall she had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach. It had been so long since they had done this that Jon had nearly forgotten how much he liked it. And when Sansa finished he showed her just how much he liked it.

Jon got out of the shower first, Sansa rinsing the soap from her long auburn hair before turning the knob and cutting off the water. She stepped out of the shower but found Jon had taken her towel and stepped out to take it back from him.

She was met with Samwell Tarly instead of Jon Snow, Jon’s friend slapping a hand over his eyes and turning on his heel. He ran so fast from the room that instead of running through the open door he ran straight into the wall.

“Two naked bodies, one day.” Said Jon, coming out of his room with a towel wrapped around his thin waist. He kissed her temple. “Arya was right. This is going to be fun.”


	2. The Smoking Gun

_ Chapter Two _

Sansa was unpacking when she found it.

She had spent the morning being profusely apologized to by Samwell Tarly who had brought both of them breakfast but Jon was still out. “Sam this is great.” She said, her mouth full of egg and bacon after Jon had been too long and they were too hungry to wait. “Did you make this?” he nodded. “You should be a chef.”

He blushed, waving her away. “Have you signed up for your classes yet?” he asked. She nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of the napkin. “Who is your instructing professor?”

She had looked at her schedule, having posted it to the refrigerator beside a few funny Polaroid’s of her and Jon. “Petyr Baelish.” She read. Sam made an involuntary noise. “What is it?” she asked.

“He teaches psychology and sociology. But he always goes after the undergraduate girls. Every year he picks one and makes it his goal to sleep with her.” Sam said, wiping a thin layer of cream cheese over the top of his bagel.

“You don’t have to worry about me Sam.” Said Sansa, wiping the cream cheese from his lip. “No man can tempt me!” she said, purposely overdramatic. She struck a pose and Sam laughed so hard that a mouthful of tea came out his nose.

“That’s good to hear.” Said Jon, grinning. She had not heard him come up. He always was as quiet as a cat. She thought back to the shower incident. She kissed his cheek in greeting before he moved to sit before the fire and warming his hands.

Sansa was unpacking a box she thought was hers. It was heavy, so she thought it might have been one of the boxes of schoolbooks she had forgotten to label. She cut through the tape easily and flipped the lid, revealing a collection of things she did not recognize.

Her mother, the proper lady she was, would have put it away and stopped looking. But Sansa was far too curious for that and began to root through the box, fishing things out one by one.

A thick black vest, a few belts, a pair of broken sunglasses, a CD player, a USB device shaped like R2D2. Then she saw it there, sitting casually at the bottom of the box. “Jon?” she called. “Could you come here for a second?”

Jon meandered into the room a few moments later and before she could blink he was there, snatching the gun from her hand and tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. “This is not how you were supposed to find out.” He said calmly. His jaw tightened.

Half of her was filled with rage at the thought of Jon keeping secrets from her. The other half of her was sure that she had never seen anything as sexy as Jon, with his loose hanging jeans and the gun tucked in by his hip, the lapels of his shirt hanging open, the buttons forgotten.

“Find out what?” she asked.

Jon brought her back out to the living room where Sam was still eating his bagel and sat her down at one of the stools by the kitchen counter. “Sansa.” He began. She did not like his tone of voice. “I’m not a mechanic.”

She held in a gasp, feeling like she was about to scream. “Are you a serial killer?” she asked, her voice low, as if she was afraid someone might hear.

Sam and Jon burst out in long waves of laughter until Jon was clutching his sides and another mouthful of tea came out Sam’s nose. “No.” Jon said between laughs, mopping the tea off the counter. “Not a serial killer. But this won’t sound much better.”

“Tell me already.” She demanded. Sansa had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach and the longer it took for Jon to tell her the truth the worse she felt. He could be anything. A mobster, a spy, a murderer. She felt sick.

“I uh…am…a secret agent.” Said Jon, flushing.

It was Sansa’s turn to laugh. “A what?” said a voice. All three snapped to attention to face Arya who had stealthily slipped into the room, dropping her keys into the crystal bowl they had by the door.

“Arya!” Sansa demanded, aghast. The younger Stark girl was looking between them interestedly, a single eyebrow rose.

“What?” she shrugged, taking off her leather gloves one by one. “I knocked…” she said firmly. “Just very, very lightly.”

“Not exactly a secret agent. Well an agent of sorts.” Jon said, clearly flustered. If this was anybody else Sansa would have been sure this was a joke. But the way Jon’s jaw was set and his eyes were hard she knew it was truth. She had long ago learned to identify the many faces of Jon Snow.

His hand slipped into hers, his thumb making shapes on her back as he pulled her into his embrace. Secret agent or not he was the same Jon Snow she knew and loved. “Does Ned know?” asked she, leaning into him until she was flush against his chest, taking deep breaths of the cologne she loved so much. Sansa could not imagine her father’s face. Bookish, shy, quiet Ned. It was almost funny.

Jon held her at arms length, meeting her eyes. “Who do you think I work for?”


	3. The Truth

_ Chapter Three _

“How many guys have you been with?” asked Jon Snow.

Sansa slapped him playfully. “Don’t change the subject.” She said, looking up at him. Her head rested on his arm, her fingers tracing a light pink scar on the bottom of his chin, her thought drifting and wondering how he got it.

Jon had already tried several times to change the subject. He had even asked Sam to leave, turning his attentions to focus solely on her. “No really.” His toes nudged against hers, the fuzziness of his socks tickling her bare toes. “I mean it. How many guys have you been…sexual…with?”

Sansa grinned. “You are wearing nothing but socks and lying almost completely on top of me and you still can’t say the word sexual?”

He flushed, leaning down to kiss her. “Sexual.” He said in his deepest, most sensuous voice. A shiver ran down Sansa’s spine and she cursed herself for being pressed so closely to him so that he felt every jolt of her. He waggled his dark eyebrows, his finger continuing to curl around a strand of her hair.

The room was almost dark, neither one willing to leave each other’s arms and brave the cold to turn the lamp on. “Two men.” She answered finally.

“Me too.” He agreed. She raised a red eyebrow and he flushed as red as her hair. “I mean girls…”

“Are you sure?” Sansa teased. “We always thought there was something with you and Robb.”

“No.” he laughed, adjusting her weight in his arms. “Well…”

She raised herself up on an elbow. “Do tell.”

“Theon.” He began. He did not even have to say more, Sansa already remembered Theon and his numerous tricks and practical jokes. “Tricked us into thinking that if we climbed into the closet Osha would come in and kiss us.”

“Our maid?” grinned she. “You wanted to kiss our maid?”

“I was thirteen. I would have kissed a tree.” He grinned. She propped her chin on his chest, watching him as he lay back on their bed.

For the first twenty hours of Sansa moving in she had not left the bed. If there was anything Jon knew it was how to make his bed. The blankets were as soft as if he had pulled a cloud down from the sky and Catelyn had given him the sheets as a birthday gift, saying something about a thousand count of stitches. It had meant nothing to her at the time but as Sansa spread herself across the bed she realized that a thousand stitch sheets were the best sheets in the world.

“So we got in the closet and waited. And then someone came in and kneeled before me and I felt lips on mine.” Jon laughed fondly as he remembered. “But when I opened by eyes there was Robb in all his glory.”

Sansa laughed until her sides ached. “Like you never kissed a girl before.” he said. “Arya has pictures from Loras’ New Years party last year.”

She blushed hotly. “Don’t be jealous.” And said in a whisper, “Your lips are softer.”

He pulled her into his arms, Sansa’s body on top of his. She had already spent an hour and a half crouching with her sketchbook in her arms, madly sketching. And Jon had just watched her, the way she bit her bottom lip or furrowed her brows in concentration.

They had not worn clothes in nearly two days. At least not when they didn’t have to. But Sansa didn’t care. After Arya and Gendry had left she had made them breakfast in nothing more than an apron and a pair of wool slippers.

Sometimes Jon wished that he were the artist and Sansa the writer. Whenever he tried to describe her he just could never find the right word. No matter how hard he tried he could not capture her likeness, the curve of her neck or the slope of her breasts, the way she smiled with one side of her mouth more than the other, the way her nose crinkled when she laughed too hard.

She had refused to show him the sketch but he had wrestled it out of her hands. She had scratched it out several times before settling on a charcoal pencil. “I couldn’t get your eyes right.” She grumbled.

“I love it.” he said, closing the book and turning instead to her. “Promise me that when your work is in display at the Louvre you’ll remember the little people.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She said. “I can’t believe you aren’t a mechanic. You’ve been fixing Arya’s car for six years.”

He shrugged. “I have a… _working_ knowledge of mechanics.” He said. “But I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, really. But Ned didn’t think it was a good idea. It was better to keep you safe.”

“Safe from who?” Sansa asked. “Jon, are _you_ in danger? Have you ever used that gun before?”

He gave her a deep sigh. “Yes.” He said. “Ned says I’m as good a shot as Robb. And safe from the Lannisters and the Greyjoys and the Targaryen’s.”

“How dangerous are they?” she asked, sitting back on her knees.

“Not so dangerous. Nothing your father can’t handle.”

“But…what is it exactly you do?”

He took a deep breath.


	4. Waffles and Bad Neighbors

Chapter Four

Jon showed Sansa his things one by one, identifying each as he laid it over the dining room table. This time Sansa had thought ahead, turning the lock on the door, knowing Arya could not burst in as she had accidently left her keys in her jeans pocket. But just in case she turned the emergency deadbolt Jon had installed the day before.

 Jon hefted the box down from the highest shelf on the closet, setting it on the chair and sighing deeply. “Well.” He said, taking the first item from the box. “Here.”

Guns, pepper spray, night vision goggles, extra rounds, bullets, utility belt, black glasses, a bullet proof belt, an extra pair of black work boots, a watch that doubled as a recording device, an ear piece, a pen that could identify counterfeit money.

Sansa was dumbfounded. "And...Robb did this to?"

"Yes." said Jon. "Theon as well before..."

His face had darkened. Sansa remembered something happening between her brother and Theon but she had been too young and too preoccupied to know what. But after that day there was an obvious break in their friendship and the last time Sansa had seen Theon he was giving Jon his middle finger while reversing up the street in his silver Corvette (which Sansa had later found was repossessed less than twelve minutes later).

"Before what?" she asked.

Jon pressed his hands flat on the table, hanging his head down.He didn't answer for a moment, thinking. "Short answer: Ned trusted him with privileged information but he gave it up. Sold it." As if that wasn't bad enough he continued on to say, "to Balon Greyjoy."

Sansa stiffened. "The terrorist?" obviously she knew that Balon was Theon’s father but Theon had never spoken of him and whenever his name was mentioned Theon became visibly upset. Once he had broken down crying at the dining room table when he had seen on the news that his father had detonated a bomb that killed five people.

"Yes." Jon answered. "Nearly ruined ten months of hard work. But your father is a smart man. He had an emergency plan thought up just in case."

"He's like that." Sansa said warmly.

After her third birthday when a wind storm had destroyed her birthday cake Ned had magically produced another one. Lemon cake with sweet vanilla icing. Her favorite. When she asked he has said simply, "a father is always prepared." If Sansa could summarize her father in five words it would be those.

Sansa ran her fingers over the gun. The metal was cool beneath her fingers and the ridged were sharp. It looked brand new, as if it had never been used before. She ran her finger over the safety and found it not activated, quickly removing her hand.

Her stomach grumbled with hunger and she moved to the kitchen. They had gone shopping the night before and Jon took out the ingredients for waffles while Sansa pushed herself up to sit on the counter, waiting for him to continue. 

"Sam works with us as well. He's the brains. Designed this." Jon had lifted one of the guns from his box and pointed it at the kitchen wall. Before Sansa could react he had fired off three shots. But nothing happened. "It doesn't fire until activated." he chuckled at her reaction, brushing his hair from his eyes. "There was an…” he trailed off. “ _Unfortunate_ incident with Grenn and a lost gun. Seventeen stitches on his left foot. He's fine now." he said dismissively when Sansa's face changed to concern.

"Who else?" she asked. Her mind was racing. Every one she knew seemed to be a part of this and she had never known. She felt foolish, innocent. Naïve.  

Jon sighed. "You cannot tell anyone." he said, thought he already knew he could trust her. Her blue eyes did not falter as she watched him. "Gendry. He can strike the dust from your boots from fifty feet away. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley."

She cocked a red eyebrow. "Oberyn Martell and his daughters. The eldest four anyway. Not on our side exactly but we have an understanding." He said, measuring out two cups of flour and a dash of vanilla extract.

"Professor Martell?" she repeated. There always was a certain allure to him, from his rolling accent to his dark, batting lashes. But never could she have foreseen him, or sweet Tyene Sand, being spies.

She had roomed with Tyene her freshmen year of university and had never seen anything suspicious. Or perhaps she had not paid close enough attention. "Yes." He said.

"Who else?"

Jon mixed the batter, holding out the spatula for Sansa to try. She licked the batter of the spatula and Jon raised an eyebrow. The way he watched her made Sansa want to rip off his shirt right there, but she would not allow herself to be distracted.

 "Tyrion Lannister. Ashara Dayne. Brienne Tarth, she, Ashara, and your mother have a Special Forces team. Come to think of it, I'm actually not quite sure what they do." he said, pursing his lips as he thought. "Benjen. Brandon. Jon Arryn. Not," he said pointedly. "Lysa Arryn. Gods can you imagine?"

For some reason Sansa instantly imagined her aunt in a leather cat suit and felt utterly ill, the batter tasting like acid in her mouth.

After relaying the though to Jon the two laughed and laughed and laughed for what felt like hours, together imagining Lysa in different scenarios. Lysa Arryn as Wonder Woman. Lysa Arryn as Batman. Lysa Arryn as a shrill, drunken witch. "Oh wait." Sansa giggled. "She's already begun on that path."

"So you just protect my father?" she asked over her plate of waffles. She crossed her legs and watched the syrup dribble into the pockets of her waffle.

Jon shrugged. "Sort of." he said after a moment. "Actually not at all but I'm not supposed to tell you." She gave him a stern look, cocking an auburn eyebrow.

Sansa’s foot crawled up Jon’s chair, her toes tickling the inside of his thigh until he slapped her away. "You can't-" he began.

"Say anything. Yeah I know. Get on with it." she teased. He smelled nice. Like home. Her foot returned to its previous path.

She could feel him sigh. "We make sure everything goes well on exchanges. Make sure Ned is safe. Make sure all the plans are executed properly. And if worst comes to worst...we protect Ned. At all costs." The way he said it made Sansa's blood run cold.

"Is that how you got those scars?" she asked softly. Her cold fingers dipped beneath his shirt, brushing the white scar on his chest.

"Knife wound." he said as casually as one speaking of the weather. "Nothing deep."

Next she touched the scar beneath his chin. "Actually that was Robb. Hit his head on my chin while we were jumping on the trampoline." Sansa remembered Robb's cracked skull and the way Jon’s eyes had gotten glassy and watery when the doctors were speaking to Ned and Catelyn.

Her fingers brushed his. The scar on his index finger. "The toaster caught fire while I was making a grilled cheese." The scar on his shoulder. "Bitten while picking up a package for Catelyn." The not yet healed bruises on his back. "Blame Benjen for that one."

To see the wound Sansa had lifted his shirt, the cold air instantly making gooseflesh rise on his skin and his nipples pebbled. "What about you?" he said. He had seen her scars. His fingers brushed against the back of her shoulder. Soon his lips replaced his fingers and Sansa suddenly lost her shirt.

"Joffrey." she whispered. His lip froze. "Actually not Joffrey. One of his goons."

Jon knew them well. He had had numerous run-ins with them in the past. He could still feel their flesh beneath his knuckles and the taste of blood in his mouth after they had broken his nose. "It's okay." she whispered, relieved. "He’s gone."

Yes, Jon thought. A lethal dose of poison in his cup from Olenna Tyrell. The perfect end to a perfect cunt.

"What about this one?" she whispered, straddling Jon. Their waffles were forgotten, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla in their air only adding to her interest.

Her cold fingers brushed Jon’s stomach and he jolted, his skin turning to fire beneath her touch. "I don't care-" he said, his lips slamming against hers. He nearly knocked them both off the chair.

He picked her up as easily as if she were made of feathers and plopped her down on the bed. Somewhere along the way he had lost his shirt as well and Sansa’s fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans.

Lying back on the bed she could feel the warmth of his skin, heat radiating off of him as she straddled him. His fingers slid up her thigh, hooking on the side of her knickers and pulling them off. He smiled at her, her red hair hanging down over her bare breasts, slightly concealing the soft pinkness of her nipples. 

He kissed her deeply, her mouth instinctively opening to accommodate him. Her hands were cold as he touched the scar on his back. The knife wound had been deep enough to damage his nerves and as she touched the scar he jolted, his arms tightening around her.

He tasted like vanilla, his tongue running down her bottom lip. His mouth moved down her body as she lay on her back and she laughed as she felt his stubble against her chest and stomach, his lips finding her nipples and making her back arch.

His mouth went lower again, his fingers brushing the patch of auburn curls between her legs and soon his mouth replaced his fingers, feeling the wet warmth of her. Her hands gripped the sheets, her back arching even higher and her hips moving against his mouth.

When he entered her she was ready and he was on the verge, the sight of her body enough to drive him mad with temptation. Her arms encircled his neck, her lips against his as they moved together, Sansa matching Jon’s rhythm naturally.

He came first, his hips buckling against hers and she was right behind him, biting onto his shoulder to keep from crying out. They had already gotten a complaint from their neighbor and Sansa had no interest in having to deal with Khal Drogo again.

“So…” she said. Her arms wrapped around Jon’s stomach, pulling him into her arms as the little spoon. She smiled against his back, imagining what this must look like, Jon’s body so much larger than hers. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

He was quiet for so long she assumed he was sleeping and closed her eyes. She was nearly asleep herself when he replied. “Yes.” Said Jon.


	5. Mystery Professor

Chapter Five

Tyrion Lannister was many things to Sansa.

He had been her uncle, her cab driver when Joffrey had been too drunk to drive her home, her best friend, always allowing her to cry on his shoulder, her nurse, once bandaging her shoulder after Joffrey had struck her with such force that he had broken the skin. He was her confidant, allowing her to share secrets she dare not tell her family. And even her teacher, telling her facts about literature and history and Latin she had never known.

But she had never expected him to be her _actual_ teacher.

On the first day of classes Sansa had woken early, prying herself from Jon’s arms with a great force as the only thing she wanted to do way lie back down beside him and let his warmth seep into her Northern bones.

She bathed, did a quick pose or two for Jon, who remained lazily in the bed, and dressed, much to Jon’s disappointment. “If only you could go to class naked.” He mused.

“Ah but this is not a perfect world.” She teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Besides, who could study when you have arms like that.”

She dressed in a simple turtleneck and jeans, her beige coat draped over her shoulders and her satchel in her arms. Arya was up as well, sitting on the kitchen counter and eating a granola bar while painting her toenails bright red. “You look nice.” Sansa teased.

“And you look like mom.” Replied Arya without pause.

“Is it too much?” she asked. “Jon said I looked like his English professor.”

“Lose the turtleneck.” Said Arya and she did, pulling the turtleneck off just in time for Sam to walk through the door with the key she had given him.

“I’m sorry!” he cried.

“Don’t worry Sam.” Said Sansa, grinning. She did not even bother to cover herself. With Sam’s track record, seeing her with a bra on was like seeing her in a full robe. Sansa pulled on her Baelor’s sweater and flashed her teeth at Sam, asking if she looked school spirited enough.

“A bit too much now.” Said Sam. “You look like my mum when she dropped me off on my first day.”

“Geez.” Sansa blew out her bottom lip. “I can’t win.”

Ten minutes and three more costume changes later Sansa was late for class and running down the halls, her loafers clicking against the marble floors. She was dressed in what she had originally planned to wear but Arya had talked her out of the night before.

Sansa arrived at her class expecting the room to be already full and herself forced to take a seat in the back of the room but as she opened the door and slipped inside there were only six other students. “Sorry I’m late.” She said. “Professor Mormont.”

“Lannisters, actually.” Said a familiar voice.

She blinked to see Tyrion standing before her in a fresh tweed jacket and matching vest. The last time she had seen him he was doing a kegstand, his legs being held by his brother, Jaime. “I’m sorry I must be in the wrong class.”

“Renaissance and Baroque Studies?” he asked, amused.

“Yes.” She said.

“Take a seat, you’re in the right place.” He said, presenting her with a chair in the front of the class. Sansa took a seat between Podrick Payne and Margaery Tyrell, both smiling at her as she sat.

When the class was over and Sansa’s hand was spasming with cramps Tyrion greeted her, telling her to wait after class for him, he and Renly Baratheon continuing to talk. Jon slipped into the room, to Sansa’s surprise, and stood beside Tyrion, handing him a handful of books sent from Oberyn Martell.

“Hello darling.” Jon greeted in a whisper, his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“Are you ogling me?” she teased, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around him.

“You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“I don’t remember.” She replied.

“Sure you do.” Jon grinned. “You were wearing a pair of Tom and Jerry socks and nothing else and you nearly blinded Sam _again_.” he added, cocking a black eyebrow. “And then, _after_ we locked the door, I proceeded to wrap your legs around my head.” Sansa stifled a laugh, Jon’s fingers ghosting down her back, his callused fingertips brushing against her hip where her shirt had ridden up. “And I clearly remember kissing your sweet, wet cunt.”

“My, my Jon Snow.” Said Tyrion. Both Jon and Sansa turned to find the youngest Lannister leaning against his desk and grinning at them. Podrick stared at his shoes, pretending not to hear anything. “You ought to be a poet. Perhaps writing something that begins: ‘there once was a woman from Ealing.’”

“I learned from the best.” Said Jon and Tyrion clapped him on the back. “A wise man once told me a sharp wit and a dirty mind was the only way to win a woman’s heart.”

“Ah yes. A wise man indeed.” Said Tyrion, embracing Sansa and kissing her cheek lightly. “I missed you, dear Sansa.”

“And I you, Tyrion.” She replied politely. “I’ve got to run.” She said, looking at her watch. “My next class starts in five.” She kissed Jon on the cheek and waved goodbye to the other two, disappearing thought he door.

Tyrion pushed himself up on his desk, his short legs swinging. “What is it, Snow?”

Jon frowned, making sure Sansa had gone before he spoke. “Sansa’s teaching professor is Baelish.”

“Bloody hell.” Whispered Tyrion. “Why?”

“He’s working with your sister.” Said Jon.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Said Tyrion with a roll of his eyes.

“He’s also working for the Tyrell’s.”

“I stand corrected.” Said Tyrion with a deep sigh. “Did Sam do it?”

Jon nodded. “Hacked into the university database.” Said Podrick. “Really needs a better firewall.

“So what, Sansa’s supposed to flit around his classroom until he tells her his deepest, darkest secrets?” asked Tyrion.

“Hopefully.” Muttered Jon.

Tyrion sighed again. “Petyr is not a patient man. Neither is he a gentle man. He’s half in love with Sansa already, just because she’s vaguely reminiscent of Catelyn Stark. And if she flirts with him, he’ll reciprocate. In more ways than one.”

“She wanted to be a part of this.” Said Jon. “Petyr had information we need and she agreed to get it.”

“This is nothing to take lightly-“

“Do you think I take this lightly?” demanded Jon. “For twenty years they’ve hid this from her. To keep her safe. If I had my way he’d still be in the dark about everything. But she had to know and she wanted to do her duty. I’ll keep her safe.”

“This I know.” Said Tyrion, holding his hands up innocently. “I only mean that I’ll keep an eye on her. As will Pod, as will Oberyn, as will Benjen and Gendry and half of the people in the damn school. Everyone loves Sansa. We would never let anything happen to her.”

Jon growled. “I would never let anything happen to her.” he said.  


	6. Long Pause and a Date

Chapter Six

_Her persona._

Ah, yes. Sansa remembered it well. The person she had been with Joffrey. Peppy, full of cheer, down for anything, spontaneous. _False_.

Yes, she could slip into her other persona like she was slipping into a bath of ice-cold water. She was a bit out of practice but she was sure she could quickly adopt.

Sansa put on her most stylish clothes, draping her coat over her shoulders instead of wearing it. She felt every blasted bit of cold but she was sure she looked quite good and that was the point after all.

Petyr Baelish was not unattractive. No, he was far from it. His smile was coy, his eyes mysterious, his jaw strong. He dressed sharply, even managing to make a tweed jacket look fine.

He greeted her at the door with a smile and a twinkle of his eye. To an unknowing observer it would seem he was just being kind but Sansa had long ago learned to read people.

She could see Petyr’s pupils had dilated, a sign which her minor in biology had taught her meant deep sexual attraction. She had seen his eyes briefly flick to her mouth, to her hand as she shook his. She had seen the way his hand had lingered on hers for just a moment too long.

"Good afternoon, Miss Stark." said Baelish.

"Good morning, professor." she replied. Sansa knew all too well her Aunt's obsession with the man, her mother's ambivalence, her father’s annoyance.

Petyr's eyes flicked to her hair. _Kissed by fire_ , she knew. Catelyn, Lysa, Sansa. It was his type.  The man might go mad with desire if he ever saw Professor Melisandre.

Unsurprisingly Petyr sat her in the front row, at the perfect angle to watch her legs cross and uncross, to watch the way her skirt tightened as she sat, the way her brow furrowed in concentrated as she wrote notes on his lecture.

The class was mostly girls, salivating at the thought of snagging such a catch. Sansa recognized Ros, one of Theon's past girlfriends, sitting two seats down from her. On her other side she found Myranda Royce and Jeyne Poole, all sighing and batting their lashes.

It would have been just as comical if Jeyne had written 'I love you' on her eyelids.

When the class was over Petyr pulled her aside under the guise of catching up. Sansa caught the dirty looks from most of the girls as they left, whispering to each other and calling her crass words. But Petyr didn't seem to notice or care. But then again neither did Sansa.

 _Flirt with him_.

Sansa had spoken in detail with Ashara Dayne and Brienne Tarth about what exactly she should do. So Sansa did. She chuckled at his lame attempt at humor, smiled shyly, brushed her hair behind her ears, and drew attention to her legs and their length when she conveniently dropped her pencil.

"It's been very fun seeing you." she said softly, batting her dark lashes. "But I'm afraid I'm very late for Professor Martell."

"That Dornish fool." Petyr said teasingly. "He wouldn't appreciate beauty if it hit him in the face. Stay here."

"I'm sorry." she said, almost seeming genuinely disappointed. Perhaps she should take an acting class. "I've got to go...maybe I'll see you again?"

To Sansa it seemed a bit on the nose but Petyr quickly took the bait. "That would be lovely." Said he with a smile.

"Look..." Sansa began shyly. She was glad Jon was not here to witness this. He might kill himself laughing too hard. "I've...I know we aren't supposed to see professors outside of school but..."

"But?" Petyr’s eyebrows rose.

"But I've got a show. A performance actually. Next Saturday at Cersei’s Tavern." she said coyly. “Will you come?” she put emphasis on the latter word.

He paused. "Of course." said he after another moment. "I'll be there."

"Bye professor." said Sansa, feeling her eyes on him all the way through the door and down the hall.

She dialed the familiar number on her phone and heard the line pick up after three rings. Sansa looked over her shoulder to make sure he was not still there. “It’s done.” She said.

There was a long pause and a sigh. “That’s my girl.” Said Eddard Stark.


	7. The Show

Chapter Six

The night was as cold as Sansa had ever seen a winter's night grow and she was thankful she had thought to bring a scarf, her coat long and large enough to envelop her completely.

Ashara had sent a car for her and when the flat buzzer rang and Sansa kissed Jon goodbye she went downstairs to find a black town car awaiting her. the show was in three hours and Ashara had told her to arrive a few hours early, calling at six o’clock in the morning to remind her.

“I pulled a lot of strings for you.” She said. “Don’t blow it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Said Sansa.

She had always been told she was pretty enough to model but had never given it a second thought, turning to scholarly pursuits instead and focusing on her art. Briefly she had focused on photography and had won a few awards for her work.

Sitting in the back of the town car she smiled softly, remembering the art show she had had a few years ago. Her family had been unable to go, as well as Margaery and Jeyne. Somehow they had all had prior arrangements but when she had stood on stage to accept her award she had seen Jon’s familiar curly head bobbing up and down in the crowd.

She had been so filled with stage fright that she had barely been able to speak but with one of Jon’s soft smiles and a quick wink, the words had come back to her and she had accepted her award with all the grace and charm of Grace Kelly.

As they drove she felt the nervousness slipping away and as she stepped into the club she slipped into her old persona as easily as she slipped out of her coat.

The room was dazzlingly decorated with shining silver ornaments and diamond baubles. The runway was long and straight as an arrow, made of shining white tile, with vases of flowers set a few feet apart.

She spotted Ashara with a headset attached to her ear and a clipboard in her hands and remembered her instructions. _Do not speak to anyone_ , Brienne had said. _You are a model. You are above everyone_.

Sansa could see a few familiar faces in the crowd: Samwell Tarly sitting  besides Pip in the third row of the crowd, a camera around his neck and his fingers fiddling with the keys. Brienne walking backstage in a shining silver gown, looking as lovely as an angel with her bleached hair and her dramatic makeup.

 None of them made eye contact and she knew they wouldn't. She was not supposed to know any of them. She was supposed to walk and seduce and ignore. She was supposed to be a model.

But it was easy to pretend. As easy as it had been with Joffrey, when she had been the perfect girlfriend. The perfect model. The perfect punching bag.

Jaime Lannister was the first to greet her. He was gorgeous, as lovely as she remembered in a three-piece suit with his golden hair brushed back and his eyes as deep a blue as the ocean. He looked as perfect as he always had on the pages of _Kingslayer_ , destroying her thoughts that he was just good looking thanks to Photoshop.

“You made it!” he grinned a dazzling grin. “When Ashara did the roll call I was surprised to hear your name.”

“Stop flirting you old fool.” Said a voice and both turned to find Oberyn Martell walking towards them. He was as golden and muscular as the images of Greek Gods Sansa had seen in her mythology book. His dark hair was slicked back and his chest bare, clad in only a pair of tight trousers and a pair of snakeskin shoes.

“Sansa, dearest.” He kissed her on the cheek and she could smell his cologne, deep and spicy, like the rumors told all Dornishmen were.

“Sansa Stark!” yelled a voice and she turned to find Ashara Dayne waiting impatiently for her. “You are needed in makeup. Right away!”

Sansa did as she was told and spent the next hour and a half in a makeup chair, having her hair brushed out and her lips plumped and her face made. It took far longer than she ever had thought and she gained a new respect for makeup artists and models alike.

When it was nearly time for the show to begin and she had been dressed, Sansa peaked around the curtain to find the room had immensely filled. Photographers crowded around the front of the runway and the high profile editors and models and fashionistas sat in the front row, looking impatient and wearing their best.

Sansa spotted Petyr Baelish sitting beside Cersei Lannister, both looking immensely intermediating and Cersei looking impatient. She was flipping through the pages of _Kingslayer Magazine_ ; most likely relishing in her name among the credits and the photos of her she had forced to be put in.

She waited in line as Ashara organized them by the clothes they were wearing and Sansa ended up behind Ros and before Brienne, listening to the models gossip.

She had been allowed to look in the mirror just once and had smiled, finding she looked just as good as Brienne or Cersei, her hair shining in the light and her lips looking perfectly kissable. Jon would have loved it. Even Sam, upon seeing her, had nearly fallen right out of his chair.

The music began, blasting loudly in her ears, and she felt excitement course through her veils. The first model was off in a flurry of fabric and the click of heels, her hips swaying and her long legs pounding against the tile of the runway as she did so.

Petyr’s eyes watched Ros with faint amusement and vaguely Sansa remembered the rumors of the two having an affair during the previous year. But like all the others he had quickly grown bored of her and her face had suddenly stopped appearing on the pages of _Mockingbird_.

But when Sansa came forward, half blinded by the sparkle of the photographers flashes and deafened by the sound of the music she saw his eyes slightly widen and his jaw go slack. On his other side Cersei stewed in her fury, her legs crossing and uncrossing angrily and her eyes burning.

At the end of the runway Sansa posed and the crowd went wild, the flashes coming faster and the music louder, Sansa’s tall heels clicking down the tile. She was even emboldened to meet Petyr’s eyes and give him a wink, his cunning smile growing wider.

On her second walk down the runway Sansa saw Brienne give her a faint smile and when she made it to the end of the runway she saw Petyr sitting forward in his seat, his pen having frozen in his hand and his eyes watching her unfalteringly.

She was dressed angelically, her first gown having been devil red and her second godly white, the straps thin and her back bare. She felt Petyr’s warm gaze sweep up her bare legs and across the bones of her shoulders and the curve of her collarbones.

The look in his eyes was familiar and she knew she had gotten his attention, her mission complete.

When the show ended and the models did their final turn around the runway she saw he and Cersei whispering and saw her thin finger rise to point at Sansa and after the show had completed and Sansa was speaking casually to Brienne she heard footsteps.

“Sansa Stark.” Said a velvety voice and she turned to find him standing before her. Brienne excused herself and Petyr took her place, standing a bit too close for Sansa’s liking. “You were wonderful.”

“Thank you, professor.” She said in her softest, most seductive voice. “I saw you in the crowd.”

“I saw you as well.” He said, clearing his throat. His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face before he remembered himself and dropped it. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“About?” she said, turning so that he would have the best view of her exposed thigh and the curve of her bare back.

“There is an internship program at Mockingbird.” He said. “The position is yours if you want it.”

“What does this position entail?” she cooed, batting her lashes.

His eyes watched her closely, a smile playing at his lips. “My teaching position is nearly over at the University and I will be returning to the magazine full time. I’ll need someone to run errands, meet clients, take notes during meetings.” He said. “I think you will be perfect for the job. Which is good as we will be spending a lot of time together.”

The way he said the words made her toes curl and her stomach churn and she had to try very hard not to roll her eyes. “That sounds…wonderful.” She said with a forced laugh. It was the same laugh she had always used with Joffrey and she hated everything about it.

She lifted his hand, feeling the smoothness of his palm and took the pen from his breast pocket, writing the number to her mobile on his skin. “Ring me with the details.” She said, smiling.

“I will.” He drawled but she was already gone, his eyes burning a hole in her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait. Hope you enjoyed the show and spy Sansa :)
> 
> Sansa's first runway look: http://40.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me3x7tfhLp1rsdyc4o1_1280.jpg
> 
> Sansa's second runway look: http://40.media.tumblr.com/a28c8d0423692df02f4de0b4c01a20c9/tumblr_nerezx8ONk1qdk1qco1_500.png


	8. Wicked Girl

Chapter Seven

Sansa returned home when the moon was already high in the sky and most of the lights in her building had already been switched off. Her heels were more than loud against the marble of the floor and Drogo poked his head around his door to see the cause of the noise but as he opened the door he could see he was having a bit of noise himself, three topless women sprawled across the Persian rug and the futon.

He winked at her and shut the door, leaving her to nosily unlock the door to her apartment. Arya’s door was closed and the sign she had pinned to the wood was turned so it read: “do not disturb.” Instead of “enter at your own risk.”

She could see the flicker of light beneath Jon’s door and figured he had fallen asleep with the telly on and slowly she turned the knob of the door. No sooner had she stepped across the threshold of the door than she felt his arms around her, pulling her so tightly against him that her breath came out in a _woosh_.

“I was worried.” He said finally, his hand cradling her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t know what had happened.”

“It’s alright.” She cooed, running her hands through his dark hair and pushing it from his face. “I’m alright.” She kissed his forehead.

Jon sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her tighter against her, his arms snaking against his middle and his head pressing into her soft stomach. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Petyr is…” he said, his voice muffled as his lips pressed against her soft skin just above her belly button. “Dangerous. I don’t like the thought of him looking at you and touching you and…”

“He won’t.” she said, tilting his head to look up at her. “You are the only one I will allow to touch me and look at me and kiss me.” she said, her fingers dancing up his arms and watching the gooseflesh rise on his skin. “Plus…I got to keep all of the clothes from tonight.”

His dark eyebrows arched. “Oh?”

Of course he had seen the pictures Sam had shown him and the ones that had quickly surfaced on the Web but any excuse for her to model for him. he lay back in his bed as she imitated her walk and let him gaze at the sheerness of her clothes and the way the fabric was both tight and loose at the same time.

“I’ve got to get this makeup off my face.” She said, her voice a soft purr. “Care to join me?”

“Getting the makeup off your face?” he asked, picking up the telly remote and flipping the channel.

“In the shower…” she said and in his haste he nearly broke his leg trying to get out of the bed.

The mirror quickly fogged from the heat of the shower and Sansa’s hair darkened under the water to the color of blood. His fingers curled against her skin, pulling her as close as was possible, her soft body flush against his.

“I liked those clothes.” he whispered between kisses, his lips moving down her stomach. “But I like you better without them.”

She is no stranger to feeling his tongue against her softest, most private place but she doubts she will ever grow accustomed to the thrill that fills her and the way her back arches like the neck of a swan.

Jon does not think he wants to get used to it. Each time she moans his name a tingle runs through him and every time he feels her hips moving beneath his hands a jolt of happiness rolls through him. He does not want to get used to it. Each time it happens he wanted to feel the same happiness and excitement as before.

Her hand closes into a fist, pulling his hair in a pleasurable way and as she comes she can feel him smiling against her, their bodies sinking until the cool tile of the shower rose to meet them, the heat of the water making their skin glow red.

They fall into bed soaking wet, without thought for their sheets and pillows and Sansa’s wet hair leaves a smear of wetness across his pillow. Jon sinks into the cradle of her hips and he sucks in a breath as he feels her teeth drag across the place on his neck she knows drives him wild.

She knew every curve of his body and with every touch of her skin to his the heat in his stomach only deepened, a wave of pleasure rolling over him with such force that he had to bite her shoulder to keep from waking Arya and Gendry.

The bruise on Sansa’s shoulder bloomed instantly, the ring of his teeth indented into her skin but she only smiled, her hips rocking against his. They turned, Jon’s hands on her hips and her hair tickling his fingers as she leaned forward, her body matching his pace.

He had loved her more times in their flat in the last few months than he ever had before but all thoughts of his past lovers disappeared. She was far softer than Melisandre, with a brighter smile and affection far more tender. She was more sensuous than Ygritte, even the taste of Sansa far better than they had ever been.

And Joffrey. Sansa could have laughed. Joffrey with that little worm between his legs. He was nothing. He had been nothing to her back then and he was nothing to her now.

As Jon kissed her she could not even remember Joffrey’s name. Seven hells, with his lips against her breasts she could barely remember her own name. “You are wicked.” She said breathlessly. “My wicked, wicked boy.”

The words only made his hips buck harder and his lips move faster and soon it was her turn to bite his shoulder, her cry of pleasure bringing forth his own until they lay in a tangle of limbs, pleasure written on their faces.

“I love you.” He whispered. Her hand brushed his thigh and he felt himself stiffen again. “My wicked girl.” His breath was warm against her neck, raising gooseflesh on her skin. “My beautiful, wicked girl.”


	9. The Ring

_Chapter Nine_

Arya lay awake in the midst of the night, watching the moonlight as it streamed through the window above their bed. She had long ago clicked off the telly but had not yet fallen asleep, her mind racing. But she was not uncomfortable. Far from it actually. Gendry had his arm tucked beneath her head and his other arm around her waist, bringing her flush against him.

She looked at him now, as she often did when Sansa was not there to tease her or Jon to ruffle her hair and especially when Gendry was not awake to make her blush. But he was beautiful.

Every curve of his face made her smile, the feel of his callused hands against her leg drawing her breath out sharply. His arms were hard beneath her hands as she ran them down his skin, feeling the warmth his skin always seemed to possess despite the harsh cold of winter that lay just outside the window.

Arya could still remember when she had first seen him so many years ago across the school's field with his rugby jersey thrown to the grass and his sport shorts the perfect mix of tight and loose. He had been dirty, his legs splattered with mud and his face screwed up in concentration but she had flushed red, unable to blame it upon the heat of the day or the exertion of the sport she had been playing.

Sansa had always teased her about how she did not know when a man was interested in her but oh she had seen the way his eyes had widened and his mouth had parted. "Who is that?" he had asked Jon. Sansa had been standing just behind them, a bit away from the cheerleading group she had once been a part of and had regaled the entire conversation to her later.

Jon replied casually, mopping his brow with his sleeve. "Don't even think about it. She'll rip your heart out with her bare hands."

But she hadn't. it had come to a surprise to them all as Arya had never shown interest in anyone before now. Just once when she had first seen Aegon Targaryen and become enthralled with his silver hair and violet eyes. But Gendry put him to shame and Arya had fallen for him just as he had fallen for her, enthralled by the way he could catch the ball in midair or how he could cook a proper English fry-up when she could barely pour water without spilling it.

Arya passed her finger across his face, feeling the short stubble that grew above his lip and, without realizing it, found her lips soon replaced her finger.

"Arya." Gendry moaned softly, his lips moving against hers in a state of half consciousness and he shivered as her hands slid down his bare chest. "Arya...”

"When we were playing rugby." she said. "You caught the ball and I said you were out of line and you pulled out the rulebook but I threw it at you..."

He laughed and pulled her into a hug, Arya curling at his side until her head rested upon his chest, rising and falling with his every breath. "You could throw a thousand books at me." he whispered into her hair, smiling at the scent of it. It was something he could not recognize, maybe roses or lavender. Probably something Sansa had bought for her. She brushed a strand of hair from his face and saw him grin.

"I love you." she said and smiled. She could feel the laugh rumble through him from deep inside his chest, his body shaking with it.

“I love you too, my Arya.” He said. It was a nickname he only used in private and she was thankful for that as Sansa would probably die from pleasure upon hearing it. So long a pause passed between them that Arya thought he had fallen back into sleep but he spoke again and caused her to jump with the suddenness of his voice. "I’ve got something to say."

“So say it.” She said. She felt foolish for the tightness she felt in her stomach and the nervousness in her chest.

He didn’t answer as he sat up, the blankets falling to his waist and her eyes soon followed, dragging down the sight she had so come to enjoy. He fumbled around for something on the nightstand and soon the light clicked on, the brightness of it shocking her and making her squint.

Abruptly he turned to face her, suddenly serious, and her nervousness only grew. "Arya Stark of Winterfell." he began. "Book thrower and sexy red panties wearer." she slapped him playfully. His face broke into a smile. "Secret romantic and terrible cook. Will you be mine for the rest of my days?"

She felt a tear run down her cheek and felt incredibly stupid for crying. "Gendry Waters." she repeated, her voice trembling. But she was not sad. Not at all. Instead she felt on the verge of bursting with happiness, wishing she could jump into his arms and dance across the length of the apartment. "I will."

Instinctively they both turned to the doorway, anticipating the entrance of Sansa, who seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when there was a nice moment but she was pleasantly surprised that she did not .

“How long have you?” she began, trailing off halfway through. Her mind was racing. What would her mother say? What would her father do? Sansa might die. Obviously she would be her main bridesmaid. The thought made Arya feel giddy.

He gave her a hard look, his dark eyes deep and soft. “You’re going to tease me.” He said.

“I promise.” She lied.

“Since you threw the rule book at me.”

She burst into tears so suddenly they were both surprised and Gendry pulled her into his arms, her face nuzzling into the crevice of his neck. She did not know how long they had been awake but soon the run began to rise and the room was filled with orange light.

“One last thing.” He said and reached into the pocket of the jeans he had kicked off the night before. He slipped the ring onto her finger and she marveled at the sight of it, the diamond far larger than she had expected.

“It is beautiful.” She said.

“Only on you.” He replied seamlessly.

As they rose to start the day Arya thought she had never been so happy in her entire life. But then Sansa screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bum bum buuuuuuum!!!
> 
> Please tell me if there are any mistakes as I had to write this on my phone because my computer is broken ):


	10. 99 Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always recommended you read the first part of this story (if you have not already) but in this chapter several things will come up from the first part and it is necessary/ _highly_ recommended that you read it :)

_ Chapter Ten _

The sound was loud as a crack of lightning and in an instant Gendry had vaulted over the bed and moved to the door. "Stay here." he said as Arya made to stand, pushing aside the blankets in her haste and spilling a glass of water that had stood upon the bedside table. "Stay here. _Now_." he growled. The sound of his voice silenced her and she fell back to her place on the bed, her stomach knotted in fear.

"Is that a gun?" she asked but Gendry was already gone.

On the other side of the house Jon was awoken from a perfect slumber, finding his arms empty and Sansa missing from her place beside him. For a moment, as silence overcame the sound of her scream, he was disoriented, thinking perhaps it had all been a dream.

But as reality set in he rose instantly, his hand finding is gun even in the midst of the dark, the cold metal meeting his warm skin jarringly.

Neither of the men had thought to switch on the light and moved around in total darkness. But Gendry was always good in the dark, Jon knew. He could hit a target three miles away in pitch black.

But neither of them could find Sansa and for a moment the worst overcame Jon, his fear paralyzing and so painful it felt as though he were standing on a mat of needles instead of a carpet.

"J-Jon." Sansa's voice came up. "Turn on the light. It's alright."

But her voice was strained and Jon was sure as soon as he flipped on the lamp he would find the flat filled with the presence of an intruder holding a knife to Sansa's neck. Her perfect neck. The neck that was pock marked with soft bruises from a night of their lovemaking.

"It's okay, Jon." she said, as if sensing his nervousness. "Just turn on the light."

He fumbled for the switch on the wall and turned slowly, his gun poised and at the ready, the switch clicking into place as it was loaded.

If worst came to worse there was always Khal Drogo. Jon had seen the man wield six knives as thought they were an extension of his arms and after Sansa had baked him coffee cake for his birthday Jon was sure Drogo would come to their rescue if it was needed.

"My Gods." said Gendry, his gun falling to his side.

Hearing nothing Arya slipped through the door to her room with a frying pan in one hand and a panic stricken expression, her face white as a sheet but whiter still as she saw what lay before her.

The pan fell to the floor with a clang but the sound did not make them jump, the shock that had enveloped them too deep for the sound to pierce it. "What in the Seven Hells?" asked Jon, tucking the gun into the band of his sleep trousers, the metal like ice against his bare skin. "What in the Seven Hells?" he repeated, as though he were a broken record.

Sansa's face was streaked with tears and her cheeks had gone from white to pink, her eyes as red as though they had been rubbed with the juice of Dornish peppers.

"I..." Arya started. Her hands had gone to fists at her side and Gendry watched her black tipped toes curl against the wood of the floor, moving closer to her and feeling her hand slip into his.

Sansa was the first to step forward, her hand lifting from her side to stroke Robb's cheek. A tear ran down his cheek and over her pale fingers. "Robb." she whispered. "Robb..." Her hand turned from soft to hard in an instant and the sound of the slap resonated against the walls of the flat.

"I deserve that." said Robb. The second slap came quickly after that, hard enough to knock him backwards, his pale skin instantly reddening. "I deserve that." he repeated.

Jon's fist left Robb's nose bloody, the spray of red liquid covering Sansa's peach nightgown and the front of Robb's shirt and dripped down Jon's bare chest. "I deserve that." the eldest Stark repeated.

The eldest Stark was dressed as causally as if he had rose and dressed and was standing in Sansa’s bedroom instead of her flat. He wore dark blue jeans and an olive anorak; the white of his shirt splattered with blood and his copper colored hair peppered with snow that had melted in the warmth of their flat.

But Sansa's hand moved towards him again and Robb flinched as he anticipated another blow but instead found the red headed girl's hand having slipped into his.

"Robb." she repeated, squeezing his hand so tightly that it was as if she was trying to crush his bones but in truth she was only afraid to let go. Not again.

It was Sansa’s hand that dabbed the blood away from her brother’s face and plugged his nose with bits of bath tissue as she had done half a hundred times before when they were children.

"Has father has told you then?" asked Robb.

Sansa nodded but Arya looked confused, having already taken in the scene of Gendry and Jon with loaded guns in their hands.

"Told us what?" she asked but was met with only silence. "Told us what?"

“I’ll make some coffee.” Said Sansa, moving towards the kitchen with Gendry in tow. _It was going to be a long night._

“This is a family matter.” Said Gendry. “I should go.”

Sansa stopped him. “You are family.” Said she, changing the coffee filter and beginning to fill the pot. “Especially now. Don’t think I didn’t see the ring on Arya’s finger.” Gendry’s face flushed bright red and he began to stutter. “We’ll talk about that later.”

From the kitchen they watched Jon and Robb filling Arya in on the true details of the Starks, watching her face flicker from disbelief to anger to interest.

Robb spoke again as the five of them sat at the dining room table, a cup of coffee in his hands steaming. "I had to go." said Robb. "They tried to kill me."

"Who?" demanded Gendry and Sansa in unison.

"The Lannisters."

The name was like a strike and Arya gritted her teeth so tightly that Gendry was afraid they might break. "Lannister." repeated Sansa. The name brought back memories too painful to think of and just the thought of Joffrey made her skin crawl.

Sansa tried to listen, she really did. But it was Robb, standing before her, the toes of his boots wet with dirt and his chin peppered with dark stubble. It was Robb. He was sweet and smiling and his cheeks were flushed from where she had struck him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

But he was warm and familiar and Sansa was glad she was sitting down, her mind instantly flooded with memories.

The call. She had been cooking dinner for the boys when she had gotten the call. Her parents were out for their typical Friday night date night and the phone had rung at twelve thirty.

Her body had been filled with ice, dropping the receiver and watching as the white plastic cracked into a hundred pieces on the kitchen floor. Sansa had walked out into the snow, her bare toes numb against the ice that coated the street but Jon had seen her.

He had nearly crashed the car into a tree as he pulled over to her but even now as she remembered she could not think of what he had said. It had all been a blur. A cold, cold blur. But he had taken her under his arm and his skin had been warm, just like Robb's had been, and then the tears came.

Sansa had expected him to stiffen or pull away or even laugh, like Joffrey had. But his arms had only grown tighter around her and his chin rested softly upon her head, her arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and pull him so tightly to her that he feared she was trying to meld their bodies.

He had put Bran and Rickon to sleep dutifully, reading the youngest Stark his favorite story while Sansa lay on the carpet before the fire he had built, letting the flames reach her until Jon returned. Without another word he had taken her feet in his hands, watching her red tipped toes wiggle against the fire that burned in the hearth as he pulled the socks onto her feet.

It was what Robb would have done, she was sure of it, and the thought only made her cry harder. Jon had laid with her on the carpet for so long that the fire went out and the sun began to rise, his presence a comfort to her that she had never understood until that very moment.

But here he was. Sitting before her with his lips around the coffee mug she and Jon had painted for their six month anniversary, his legs crossed at the ankle like they always had been, and his eyes as bright and knowing as she remembered. He was here. As suddenly as lightning he had appeared in her living room, nearly scaring the life out of her in the darkness when she had risen for a glass of water.

“I’m sorry.” Said Robb. “If I could have I would have taken you all with me. But it was too dangerous and I don’t know what I could have done if something happened to you.”


	11. Assistant

_ Chapter Eleven _

Jon sat on the balcony of the apartment, half leaning over the wrought iron railing and into the winter air. A cigarette burned between his fingers and his brow was so furrowed that Sansa could nearly see the wrinkles forming.

The doors slid open softly as she stepped out, her bare feet feeling the shock of the cold tile floor and her open coat doing little to stop the winter cold. Arya and Gendry sat with Robb in the living room, preparing sandwiches and speaking of things Sansa could not care about right now.

Jon had not spoken in two hours and Sansa was once again reminded of the quiet boy she had once known that buried himself in a leather jacket and drove a beat up Honda. She whispered his name and in response he unfolded his arm from his side and wrapped it around her shoulders, bringing her so close to him that it seemed he was trying to merge their bodies.

She took the cigarette from him and flung it off the balcony, watching the red and orange cinders disperse into the dark air. “I swear to the Gods that if you die of cancer I will hunt you through the otherworlds and kill you again.” She said.

He let out a laugh. “I quit.”

“Apparently not.”

“I just…” he said, burrowing his head in his hands. “I can’t believe that Robb…”

“I know.” She said. They did not speak for a little while but even without words Sansa was a comfort to him, his hair soft as silk as he twirled it between his fingers and his coat built large enough for two, her cheek resting against his shoulder. “I just feel like it will all be a dream.” She said. “Like I’ll wake up in my bed with Joffrey in the other room and Robb’s car wrapped around a tree.”

“Joffrey’s dead, my dear.” Said he. “And apparently, Robb is not.”

“I just can’t believe that my dad…my square, nerdy, professor dad is a super spy.” She said.

“Not a super spy.” He corrected. “Just a very… _creative_ political adversary. He throws Tywin Lannister for a loop.”

“You tell me everything.” Said Sansa. “Well clearly not.” She said with a playful look in her eyes. “But…is there anything else?”

He paused for a moment and Sansa’s eyes widened. “I’m only joking.” He grinned. “No secrets.”

Sansa woke up before the rest of the house and moved the kettle to the front burner of the stove for her morning cup. She stopped mid stir of the tea she had pulled down from the shelf and turned to the couch. Half of her expected to find the couch bare and empty.

She let out a sigh of relief upon hearing the sounds of Robb’s snoring and found him with the blankets halfway to his forehead and his feet bare, the eldest Stark shivering in the cold air.

Sansa moved the blankets as softly as she could but still her brother jerked awake, staring at her in surprise. “I haven’t woken up to you in a while.” He whispered, his voice gruff with sleep. Robb had always driven Sansa and Jon to school each morning and the two men were familiar with finding Sansa in her pajamas when she woke up late. “I miss those bunny pajamas.”

She kissed his forehead, her fingers running through his hair. “I’ve got to run. Late for class.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Want me to drive you?” he asked.

“I thought you were in hiding?”

“I’ve got tinted windows.” He assured.

“Even so I’m going with Gendry. He’s TA to Professor Melisandre.” She said. “But I’ll be home around seven.

“So late?”

“I’ve got an internship with Petyr Baelish.” She almost whispered.

Robb was instantly alert, sitting halfway up on the couch and scaring her enough to make her tea spill from it’s mug and over her hand, the water scalding. “Littlefinger?” he asked in shock. “You can’t work for that cunt. He’s working with Cersei to destroy our family.”

“It’s not a real internship.” Said Gendry. He pressed the bedroom door closed behind him and even through the layers he wore Sansa could see the outline of the knife he had in his belt of his jeans. “She knows about Littlefinger and she’s going to help us.”

“Help us?”

Sansa glared at him. “Those who fake their own deaths have no say in this conversation.” She snapped.

A moment passed between them. “I just want you to be safe.” He said. “I always wanted it.”

“I know.” She kissed his forehead.

Her classes for the day were simple but exhausting and by the time she sat back in the passenger seat of Gendry’s car and dropped her bag in the back seat five hours had passed. Her stomach rumbled from lack of food and her arms ached from carrying so many books.

By the time she and Gendry pulled into the lot of a restaurant she had only one hour before she was supposed to arrive at Baelish’s office. “What is that?” he asked through a mouthful of chips.

“My assistant outfit.”

He quirked an eyebrow, trying to judge the height of the heels. It had been a few weeks since she had last worn them when at a club with Margaery and she had nearly fallen into a bush when Loras got too knackered and collapsed.

When Sansa arrived at the building she found it was exactly as she had imagined, pristine and clean, painted stark white and filled with posh furniture that looked expensive and uncomfortable. The women were tall and fashionable and mean, with pinched mouths and shoes that probably cost more than Sansa’s flat and they stared at her as she passed, no doubt hating her on sight because she had nabbed the spot at Littlefinger’s assistant.

He greeted her in his office, sitting behind a marble and glass desk, his alligator boots crossed at the ankle and his fingers glinting with a single ring. “Sweet Sansa.” He said and she flinched. It was a name Joff had called her and she had always hated it. His smile was wide and pleasant though his eyes held something more animal than man and as his smile widened he looked at though he was interested in devouring her whole. “Welcome.”


	12. Little Fingers

_ Chapter Twelve _

“So what exactly is it that I will be doing?” Sansa asked, slipping her notebook from her purse and setting it in her lap, her pen resting between her fingers carefully.

He slid closed the door and something told her the room was soundproof, the thought making her uncomfortable in more ways than one.

But she knew Gendry was listening from the car parked three miles away, the microphone slipped between the fabric of her purse. She knew her father could see her from the camera he had instructed she place on the front of her heel, the rhinestone sized hunk of metal hidden beneath the patent leather of her shoe.  

It would be flung across the room when she walked, Ned had said. He could see everything and his blood was probably boiling from the way Baelish was sitting.

Littlefinger pushed himself back on his desk in a way that was more provocative and brazen than she could have pegged him doing, his legs separated enough to put his groin on display for all the world, but especially Sansa, who resisted the urge to scoot her seat back and throw up into the posh little rubbish bin beside his desk.

“Sansa.” He said, his voice half a sigh. “You and I both know that you are not really my assistant. Not truly.”

She raised an eyebrow and watched Baelish admire the shimmer of her eyeshadow in the light. “And what will I be?” she could practically hear Gendry laughing from the way she had dropped her voice, adding a Lauren Bacall style grace to her voice that was not normally present.

“My right hand.” Said he. The way he did it made Sansa even queasier and she forced a smile. “I’ll need you to make appointments, schedule meetings, set dates. Keep secrets.”

“I suppose you know I’m good at that.” She replied coolly.

“Yes.” He said. Sansa Stark wondered if he was thinking of the times he had seen her at the Lannister’s house, the bruises on her arms covered by long sleeves and the cut above her brow played off as an accident. “I suppose I do.”

“I’ll need you to do whatever I ask you to.” He said. “You need to be available whenever I need you. If I call in the middle of the night you need to be here.”

“Done.” She replied.

She wondered if he thought of this as some _Fifty Shades of Grey_ type situation, the thought sending her head spinning and her stomach churning. The thought of anything of his touching her was enough to send her reeling and she had to actively resist rolling her eyes when he brushed his fingers across her bare knee, watching the gooseflesh rise on her pale skin.

But suddenly he was serious, the fox like smile slipping from his face and his eyes hardened. “I need you to do something for me.” he said. “Something that will seem odd at first.”

“How do you know you can trust me?” she asked. The way she looked in that dress was enough to drive him mad with temptation as his eyes dragged down her front.

“I know you.” He promised. “And I know you know a sinking ship when you see it.”

He knew. He knew everything. About Robb, about Ned, about her mother, about Gendry. The words went unsaid but made a knot the size of a concert piano grow in Sansa’s stomach.

The smile on her lips was almost natural and she slipped her notebook back into her purse, the pen capped and folded away. Her eyes sparkled with mischief he misinterpreted as cleverness. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have been asking I do in fact have a Tumblr by the name of chocolat-e and you are welcome to follow me and reblog my (many) game of thrones posts and I even accept prompts if you want me to write anything specific :)


	13. Champagne and Brandy

_ Chapter Thirteen _

Her mum might faint if he saw her like this. Her father would turn white as a sheet and his jaw would tighten as it always did when he was upset.

There was nothing wrong with the dress per se. It did not reveal anything too risqué nor any bit of skin Sansa would not normally show. No, what was really intriguing was the way she had come to procure such a dress.

It had been left upon her desk at the end of the workday, the crimson box left without a note and once opened the champagne colored dress had peaked through the dark paper it was wrapped in, so beautiful it had drawn a gasp from her lips.

It was not the first gift Petyr had left. They had started out innocent enough. A bouquet of summer roses to commemorate her first day, a lemon cupcake from the bakery down the street. But then he had left a crystal paperweight, half as expensive as the months rent for their flat.

"Make him happy." Baelish had said. His fingers had curled around a strand of red hair, his fingers stroking her cheek as softly as he could manage. It had taken all her strength not to pull away and push him right off the mahogany desk he took so much pride in.

"You are a gift to him from Tywin Lannister. He won’t touch you.” Petyr promised. His eyes had darkened with desire. “But he might look at you…who wouldn’t?”

Sansa stood at the entrance of the hotel, the black town car Baelish had sent rolling away down the pavement, and she was struck with a bolt of fear, realizing she did not fully know what she had gotten herself into.

Jon had given her a long, hard look. His hand had turned to fists at his sides, refusing to uncurl even as her lips danced over his scarred knuckles. His rage was not well hidden and she could see it roiling in his eyes and marring his features as she gave him one last kiss goodbye.

“You don’t have to do this.” Jon had said, his dark eyes pleading. “You’re not part of this.”

But she was a Tully and a Stark. “Don’t worry.” She said, pushing back his hair to press a kiss upon his temple. “I know how to lie.”

She had mastered the art a long time ago; at least she could thank Joff for that. She had long ago learned to flatten her brow and steel her eyes so there would be no way to tell the difference between truth and lie.

"What are those bruises on your back?" her mum had once asked, spotting them after Sansa had forgotten her robe and slipped out of the family bathroom with a skimpy towel.

"Oh." Sansa had replied casually, turning her head so her hair would once again cover them. "I pulled a box of cereal down from the pantry and about six of Bran’s soup cans rained down on me." Her mother had even laughed, saying the same thing had once happened to her.

But Catelyn hadn’t seemed to notice the bruises were in the shape of fists instead of cans.

Sansa walked through the grand lobby confidently, every eye she met as she passed looking her up and down as though she were a piece of decoration instead of a woman. _You are a gift from Tywin Lannister._

She was Petyr Baelish's decoration just as she had been Joffrey's and it was a feeling she hated. A feeling that made her painted fingernails dig into her palms and her jaw tighten until it was sharp and cutting as steel.

Her makeup was simple but pretty enough, something she had learned from Margaery years ago when they had seen it in one of Cersei Lannister's old fashion spreads and had improved upon it, the golden shadow spread across her eyelids carefully.

The color of her lips matched the color of her nails. _Red lips make men’s knees quiver_ , Cersei Lannister had said in an interview, not aware that her lips were no longer the ones that made Robert Baratheon quiver. 

Sansa had seen the way Jon reacted when he saw her. A gasp had been pulled from his lips and his eyes had widened, the tightening of his jeans not going unnoticed by the red haired girl.

“We will finish this later.” She whispered to him, her hand grazing the bone of his hip just light enough to make him shudder.

The elevator ride was short and quick, the bellhop escorting Sansa to the penthouse suite and leaving her with a gawk as the silver doors slid closed behind her.

She reached out a hand to knock but found she couldn't. Who would be on the other side of the door? What if it was someone she knew? Or her parents knew? What if it was Baelish himself and this was all an elaborate trick.

She couldn't do this. No. It was not possible. She was not an escort. She was not a spy.

But she had to. She was a Stark and she must be strong. Strong like her mother, like her father, like Gendry and Jon. And Robb. _My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel_ , she thought. It was something her mother had once said to her.

She found the door to be unlocked when she turned the knob and unobtrusively she slipped inside, her face schooled into calm. The room was spacious enough to house a hundred comfortably and two hundred uncomfortably, a crystal chandelier glittering in the low light.

"Hello?" she called. She was sure Baelish had planted a recording device somewhere in the room to assure she did as she was told. "It's...my name is Alayne." She had nearly said Sansa and cursed herself for her foolishness. "Alayne Stone. Littlefinger sent me."

"Have a drink." said a voice.

She jumped at its suddenness and turned to find a man sitting in a seat before the window, his face cast in shadows. "I don't..."

"Have a drink." the man repeated. His voice was course and sharp and unnervingly unfamiliar. They had never met, that much was clear. She would have remembered a voice like that.

 _Do as he says_. She poured a glass of brandy with hands she willed not to tremble and took a small sip before thinking better of it.  The liquor spread across her mouth and down her throat like fingers of fire and she wondered if she was drugged. She would need a clear head tonight.

"Good." The man admired. "Take off your dress."

She froze. "Are you sure I can't..."

"Take off your dress." he repeated.

 _Be strong_ , Sansa thought. _Be strong for them_. The white dress pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it, a gust of cool air rushing to meet her. She shivered, clad in only underwear and a pair of heels high and stylish enough to make her ankles ache. _Be strong_.

There was music playing and it grew louder as she unzipped the dress. Was she to dance? Was she to dance with him?

Her answer came soon enough when he turned to face her. Her face did not betray even a flicker of fear as she met his hard gaze. His hair was combed long and styled in a way to try and cover the side of his cheek and eye that were covered in scrapes and scars, the otherwise white skin of his face marred pink by it.

“Are you frightened?” He asked.

“Should I be?” she replied coyly.

He rose to his feet, standing three heads taller than her and drawing her gaze higher. “Yes.”

“I am not afraid.”

“I know you are not a whore.” He said. A callused hand rose to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You are too pure. Too highborn.”

“Even highborn girls can be whores.” She said.

“But not you.” Her slim fingers rose to brush his scarred cheek and he flinched but did not pull away. “I disgust you.” He said.

“No more than I disgust you.” She said. His face fell to rest in her hands and his eyes drooped closed almost peacefully. It was as thought he had never been touched. Not like this.

“A sweet little bird.” He whispered. “Taught to sing songs and please.”

“And do I please you?” she whispered.

He let out a winding sigh. “Yes.”

The door flew open with a slam and she jumped nearly out of her skin. But he had drawn the gun from the waistband of his jeans and lifted it before she had even ceased to stop shaking. Her blood pounded in her ears. Her vision was blurred by fear and desperation.

She was going to die. Nobody was coming for her. She had refused to wear a recording wire and had no place to hide a microphone chip except her person. They would find her body one day, half naked and riddled with bullets until she looked like a slice of holey cheese.

He let out a string of fire. The sound was deafening, louder still as the enemy fire shattered the windows and the picture frames that hung on the wall. They lodged in the furniture and made feathers fly out. It might have even been beautiful if she was not so frightened.

“Come on little bird.” He said through gritted teeth. “I will keep you safe.”

He grabbed her hand and towed her along beside him through room after room and she wondered how many there were. The bullets kept coming, whizzing passed her ears and breaking plates and boxes of pasta as they ran through the kitchen.

“Duck!” he said, forcing her down. The skin of her knees instantly went raw but she didn’t care. If he hadn’t done it the bullet that was lodged into the wall behind her would have hit her head.

In his arms Sansa was light as a little girl again, memories of the days she had still been able to fit into Ned’s arms rising in her mind. She was disoriented. _Have I been shot?_ She wondered weakly. _Have I been drugged_? She thought back to the brandy.

She saw a flash before them and jumped for the gun in his hands, lifting it just in time to rattle out three loud shots that struck the man before them, allowing him to crumple like an old take away bag and fall to the floor.

Sansa could have screamed. “You’ll be okay, little bird.” The man said. His chest was hard as stone as her head rested against it. “I promise. Just keep your eyes open. I’ll get you back to your family. Just keep your eyes open.”

She could not obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter of this fic I've written. I hope it was not too long. What did you think?


	14. The Voice

Sansa opened her eyes to find she was still in the arms of a giant, moving through several hallways of a building she did not recognise, filled with relief when the sight of the hotels logo whizzed passed her on the wall. _How long had passed?_ She did not know.

"I've got to get you out of here." he said. "Where is your car?" She didn't answer. "Even whores have cars. Where is yours?"

"I didn't drive..." she began. Her lips were moving too slowly, her brain subdued below the forces of whatever she had been given. She was not in pain, thankful for that. _Had she been drugged? No._ She hadn't drunk anything? _Had she?_

"A cab then." he growled. A pair of hands came out of nowhere and for a moment the man was stunned and Sansa nearly fell.

"Let her go." said a voice. Her face was ho as if she had been standing before the sun and blasted with its heat.

"Hands off, bitch." he growled. She was shaking now, from the cold, from fear, from adrenaline. She did not know.

Despite Sansa's blurred vision she could still recognise the cool steel of a gun pressed to the side of the man's neck. He had frozen, going still as a Greek statue, her body spilling from his arms.

"Let her go." the voice repeated. Sansa dropped from his arms with the weight of a concert piano and she could feel a pain so deep in her arm that even in her haze she knew she had broken a bone. From her place on the floor Sansa could see the man's shadow grow further and further away, his heavy footsteps disappearing down the corridor. The gun disappeared so suddenly Sansa began to wonder if it was a figment of her imagination.

"I am not your enemy." the voice said. Sansa had begun to fight, using all her force to focus her mind on controlling the limbs that were currently lying limply at her sides. "You must trust me. I am not your enemy."

Sansa was hefted up again, her head bobbing to the side like that of a child's and she could see one of her shoes had been left behind on the tile floor, the bright red a stark contrast against the ecru tile. She could no longer speak, her voice having washed away with her sense of safety.

"I promise, everything will be okay." There were flashes of silver and red and blue and the screech of tires. Sansa was thrown to the ground, the weight of a body collapsing on top of her and she stifled a scream, both from fear and from the pain of her arm.

"Stay down!" shouted the voice, using something to pin down Sansa's head. What seemed like a moment later Sansa was on her feet again, being pulled through the car park like a bumbling child.

She heard the slam of doors as she was set carefully down in the back seat of a car, two soft cloth seatbelts pinning her down so she would not fall.

"The drugs are leaving your system." said the voice. The car had jerked into motion and the tires spun rapidly as the sound of the purring engine and the tautness of the seatbelt alerted Sansa to how fast they were going.

She could see red, yellow, and green flashing through the snow spattered windows as they flashed through the intersections although the driver did not seem to care about the direction of the stop lights.

"It will be okay." said the voice. It was so far away, like Sansa was straining to hear from the other end of a tunnel. "We will be there soon."

"Wehm pharmu staking sme?" asked Sansa. Her lips moved but the sound coming out was nothing close to her voice. Her head was heavy as an anvil and her neck nor the snakelike seatbelts would not allow her to lift it. "Wemh pharmu staking sme!" she demanded.

"Not long now." said the voice. Sansa's ribs ached as though she had been struck. The car veered sharply to the left and Sansa knew if she had not been strapped in that her head would have cracked against the handle of the door.

"Keep your head down. I don't want them to see you."

"Whog stars you?" demanded Sansa. Her arms and legs were tingling so strongly it was as though millions of volts of electricity were coursing through her veins. "Wehm pharmu staking sme?"

Another flash of silver. A flash of green. Veer to the left. The brakes pumped. Sansa's head was pounding. Her heart beat as a wild drum. Green. Silver. Red. Green. The engine revved like a wild cat and suddenly the car seemed to be flying. There were no more bumps in the road. No more lights. The dull murmur of the radio halted. Orange. Bright orange. The sun? _What would Jon think_? She knew he would never stop looking for her. He would never forgive himself for letting her go.

Sansa felt a tear fall down her cheek and soon another followed suit. She sobbed loudly. Her shoulders shook from the cold, her bare foot pressed against the icy window. She wished she was wearing socks.

The orange light disappeared and then there was only darkness, eating away at the light until it was drowned out. Although she had hated it at the time Sansa bitterly wished for the orange light to return, the darkness far more sinister.

"Where?" she managed to say. Her lips tingled. "Where?" she said desperately.

"Stay calm." said the voice. "Stay calm. I promised to protect you. We are almost there." The car came to a halt so quickly that despite the seatbelts her head clunked against the back of the seat before her.

The door opened and Sansa spilled out as the buckle of the seatbelt was untucked. She could feel the soft, wet earth beneath her bare foot, mud squelching between her toes. She cried again as she remembered the days when Joff had gotten her what she had thought was a beer but was actually seventeen vodka shots mixed with caramel colouring.

She had been so woozy she could not walk straight. He had left her to fend for herself that night, finding interest in some other pretty thing.

Her legs worked like jelly and her spine was soft as pudding and when she tried to stand she fell. Once. Twice. She wrenched her arm from the voice's grip and tried to run. Her bare foot slipped in something wet and she fell again, her injured arm twisting harshly in the process.

She tried to scream but only a gargle of wet, strange words came out.

Silver. White. Gold. She was being carried again. Half carried really. More light. It was so bright her eyes burned with it.

She cried again. Jon. Her Jon. Would she ever seen him again? Her stomach dropped suddenly and through her blurred eyes she could see more lights and hear the rattle of chains, her screams muffled by a hand that covered her mouth. She shivered from toe to head.

Arms. Suddenly there were arms, another set of arms. Strong and solid and warm. A face burrowed into her neck and with all her power she tried to swat it away. It was only when a second voice spoke did she allow her body to relax as she so desperately desired.

"Sansa." Jon said. She collapsed into his arms.

*******

Sansa awoke in her bed, the drapes drawn shut and the room filled with the darkness of night. Her head was heavy and her bottom lip tasted like cherry sweet cream. _Why are the blinds closed?_ She doubted they had ever been closed before, often accidentally allowing the elderly man across the way to see Sansa when she stepped out of the shower in nothing but a towel hanging loosely about her waist.

There was movement before her. "Jon?" she asked the darkness. Her face was hot with tears. "Jon?"

Her Jon fell into the bed beside her and pulled her very close to him until they were curled around each other like kittens, her face buried into his hard shoulder. He stroked her face with the pad of his forefinger, brushing the mussed hair from her forehead so he could kiss it.

"I thought I would never see you again. When the wire went dead I thought..."

Sansa offered a weak smile, feeling the cut on her bottom lip ache. "Us Starks are hard to kill." she whispered, her throat raw and burning. She lifted an arm to stroke his cheek but found her arm clasped in a fibreglass cast, the colour light enough to match her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked.

Robb Stark appeared in the doorway, flooding the room with the familiar yellow light of the hall's light fixture. She could hear knifes and forks clanking against plates and the sound of low whispering, knowing the house was once more full.

"Dany found you." said her eldest brother, stepping to the side to reveal a woman standing in his shadow. _No_ , thought Sansa. _Not just a woman. Daenerys Targaryen._


	15. Flashbacks

_Chapter Fifteen_

Suddenly Sansa was fourteen again and her hair was styled in a long, thin plait and her skin was pale as milk aside from the bruises that were hidden beneath her copper hair. It had been three days since Joffrey had struck her, her bruises shading quietly from purple to black.

She stood in the kitchen as Catelyn cooked an proper English fry up for Arya’s birthday, Bran and Arya fighting over the first taste of their mother’s Yorkshire pudding. Through the window she could see Robb and Jon tossing around ball in the backyard, laughing, both wearing the sweaters Catelyn had knit them for Christmas.

"Mum, please.” Protested Sansa. “I don’t…I don’t want to take gym.”

"Sansa!" said Arya, rolling her eyes. "You just don't want to get hot and sweaty. You’re such a girl."

 _No_ , Sansa had almost said, swallowing the words and burying them deep within her. _I don't want the other girls to see my bruises when we’re in the changing room._

She was fifteen in Professor Luwin's history class, gathering her things and getting ready to meet Joff at the lunch room. Her hair was perfectly crimpled, her nails meticulously painted. Her ankles had gone numb from the pain of the platform heels she wore and she ignored the rush of cold that met her bare legs beneath the skirt she wore even though autumn was already in full swing.

"Hi." said a voice from behind her. Daenerys Targaryen stood behind her, tall and slim and beautiful with long waves of silvery-gold hair and eyes that shone bright as amethysts under the florescent school lights. "I'm new. I was wondering if you could help me find this classroom?" the girl had asked, pointing down at her schedule.

Sansa was sixteen. Her body was huddled in the back of Dany's car, hiding beneath the stiff blue tarp Daenerys kept to cover her topless Jeep when it rained and she was sobbing, thankful for the loud crack of thunder or else Joffrey would have heard her. She had been Sansa’s second call when Jon had not answered his phone, Sansa remembering too late that he was at work.

"Where is she?" he had demanded. Her back had ached from the crisscross of bruises where Joff’s fists had come down upon her. "Tell me where she is or else." he demanded. 

"Or else?" echoed Dany, mockingly. She had stood proudly before him, her chin raised and her eyes challenging and Sansa went mute, shivering at the thought of what Joff might get Meryn or Sandor to do to Dany. “If you should raise a hand to me it will be the last time you have hands."

There was a march of boots and Sansa had heard the screech of tires and the buzz of the engine as Joff's car peeled down the wet pavement and disappeared among the dancing rain and whirling wind.

"Sansa." Dany had whispered. “Please let me take you to a hospital.” But Sansa shook her head furiously. Dany took a long drag from her cigarette, lifting the tarp to cover both of their heads and wrapping her free arm around Sansa’s shoulders. "Would that I could make him suffer." 

It had been Dany who had stood up for her when no one else would. It had been Dany who offered sanctuary to the copper haired girl so her parents would not see their daughter battered. Dany who had applied the makeup to her skin in such a way as to make the awesome bruises fade and disappear.

But that had been years ago. Joff was long dead now, food for the worms and insects and other creatures far better than he.

“Hey Sans.” Said Dany, standing in the doorway. She looked older, her silver hair pulled into a familiar braid, though the plait fell down to her lower back instead of just her shoulders. Her cheeks bones were pronounced as were the bones of her hips, protruding over the waist band of her jeans.

 _She must be under stress_ , Sansa thought. She only ever lost so much weight before when she found out about the death of her brother.

“Can you leave us for a moment?” asked Sansa and without a moments hesitation the room cleared, Daenerys moving to sit on the corner of the bed. “Dany.” She whispered, sitting up. She wiped a tear from her eye and prayed the silver haired girl didn’t see it. “I thought…I thought you were…”

“Almost.” Said Dany. “A dragon cannot be killed by a sheep. Harmed yes. But not killed.”

“What did they do to you?” Sansa demanded, her voice hard as iron.

“Nothing you have not known before.” said Dany. “But Joffrey is dead and with him Robb and I. Your family protected me when I needed it most.”

“Just as you protected me.” Sansa replied. Dany reached over to take her hand. “You are my family. Now that my father knows what you did-“

“You would have done the same if it was me.” said Dany, raising her arm and sliding down the sleeve of her shirt. “You did.” The scar shone white as diamonds against her already pale skin, the scar puckered and wrinkled and slightly pink and Dany flinched when Sansa brushed a finger against it.

“Would that I could make him suffer.” Said Sansa, repeating the words Dany had once told her. “How did you find me?”

“I followed you. Robb told me you were working with Baelish. That man…he has his hand in more than one pot. He says he is working with the Lannisters yet he poisoned Sandor’s wine. He says he will keep you safe yet he let you drink the wine.”

“He told me not to.” Said Sansa. “But Sandor was getting so suspicious. I didn’t want him to think-”

“I never thought I would have to ask you to do that for me.” Both girls looked up to find Eddard Stark in the doorway, holding a bouquet of bright winter roses and a small brown teddy bear. “I am so sorry Sansa. I never should have let you go there. Your mother might never forgive me.”

His embrace was as it always had been, deep and soft and warm. “You’ve always protected me.” she whispered, looking up at her father. “It’s my turn to protect you. I didn’t get hurt. Just dazed. If Jon and Robb and Theon are a part of this. I will be too.”

Eddard gave her a hard look. “So be it.”


	16. Porcelain, Ivory, Steel

_Chapter Sixteen_

Jon watched Sansa through the balcony doors. She stood with her back to him so he could not see her face but he knew the auburn haired girl well enough to know that she was crying. Her hair was curtained around her face as she bent over the iron railing of the balcony, looking down at the snow-covered street.

“Should we go out there?” asked Robb, leaning forward in his chair. Dany sat beside him, his arm around her so that she was able to lean against him.

“No.” Jon said, frowning. “Just give her a moment.”

The gun tucked into the waist band of his jeans had never seemed so heavy, the cold steel making gooseflesh rise on his arms despite the cream coloured coat he had donned after Arya insisted on keeping all the windows open to “expel the bad vibes from the room.”

He was a fool to have though this would ever work out. At first he had just done Eddard Stark a favour when the man had asked it of him. He would have done anything for the man. Hell, he still would.

“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Jon.” Ned had said, sitting just before him in the man’s large, wooden office. “I wouldn’t have done it unless there was another option. I always wanted to keep my boys out of this and you are one of my boys, Jon.”

The words had brought a smile to Jon’s face and he had been too overwhelmed to do much more than nod. Eddard had sighed and began the same speech that he was to give his eldest daughter three years later.

“It began with the death of my sister, Lyanna. She was killed by Tywin Lannister who paid-“ his lips had tightened as tight as his fists and the way his eyes pressed closed showed how much this act still affected him. “He paid a doctor to prescribe far more medicine to a birthing mother than was necessary. She died while birthing a son. A dark haired, dark eyed son.”

Sansa’s eyes had flicked towards her father, just as Jon’s had once done. “No.” she said uncertainly. “No. Jon was orphaned after-”

“-Jon was orphaned after Tywin Lannister paid for a vial of medicine to take his mother and a bullet to take his father.” Said her father.

At this point Sansa had looked over her shoulder to where Jon was standing, her eyes glassy and her cheeks reddening. Her hand had slipped into his softly, her thumb stroking the soft ridges of his wrist where blood raced through veins.

“But that would mean Daenerys and Viserys and Aegon are his siblings.” Said Sansa.

Her father had nodded. “And Oberyn Martell his uncle.”

She remembered the fashion show. She had certainly seen something pass between them. A charged moment, perhaps. In the moment she had just assumed that the man had found Jon to be as attractive as she thought what with his tight black button down and the way he looked in his trousers. But now she knew the truth.

She had felt her stomach flutter. Jon had been raised with no family and suddenly he had three. Starks, Targaryen’s, Martell’s. Three of the most popular, and- she know knew-dangerous families in the world. If she and Jon were ever to bear children they would be party of all three families. It was certainly a daunting thought.

“So then everyone is in on it, then?” she asked. “Benjen, Ashara, Lysa, Jon Arryn, everyone?” her father nodded. She felt as though she had been doused in cold water. “And Robb he-“

“Robb was angry at Theon. Anger leads to passion and passion leads to foolishness. He was hotheaded and didn’t think about the consequences of his actions. The only thing that we could do was pretend the six bullets Walder Frey put in his chest killed him.”

“What?” Sansa demanded. “This is starting to sound like a soap opera. I feel like I should have a bowl of popcorn and a cup of tea to spit out when you say the next shocking thing.”

Ned had smiled. “It does sound sort of strange. Can you picture your soft mother slinging guns and dodging bullets?”

She had scoffed, wishing she had tea to spit out dramatically. “No.”

“Good because she never has.” Said Ned. “I kept her out of it, just as I wanted to keep you and your sisters out of it. But on that count I failed. And Baelish-“ he growled.

“I still don’t understand exactly what happened.” she had said.

“Baelish is a snake. Most likely he ran to Tywin or Cersei with the time and place you would be. I can almost guarantee he sold this information to the highest bidder. The easy way to explain it would be to say it was a trap. We’re both lucky Dany found you.”

“But why did I feel so…much like pudding.”

Eddard frowned. “That we don’t know. You didn’t eat or drink anything, so far as you remember. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Perhaps Baelish slipped you a long acting poison at some point during the day.” He said. “That’s the only thing I can think to explain it.”

Suddenly she could remember the cup of tea he had given her to calm her nerves before she had left the office for the day. She felt a fool. A pure, absolute, unabashed fool and when she relayed this information to her father his frown only hardened.

“I will kill that man.” her father had growled. “Though I think I will have to fight for that right.” He had lifted a finger to gesture to Robb and Jon and Arya who paced the room, looking murderous. He smiled lightly, his hand turning to stroke his daughter’s cheek. “Jon is a good man.” he said. “We had never seen two people so obtuse. Your mother has been pushing you two together for years. God knows Robb tried. Half the reason he joined the football team was so that he would carpool with you and Jon and force you two to sit in the back together in hopes of- ” he swallowed. “Physical contact.”

Sansa had looked over her shoulder. “Yes.” She said. Jon was doing his best impression of the Queen to try and cheer up Arya. “He is a good man.”

And now Jon watched her. He did not want to lose her now. This sweet, copper haired girl was everything he had ever wanted. It had been the only lie he had ever told him. _No_ , he thought. _I have said one more_. The day he said he did not care about Robb’s death.

Finally he was able to stand it no more and he jumped to his feet and pushed open the balcony doors, stepping out into the frigid air. “Sansa.” He said firmly, having wondered what to say for the last hour. “I’m sorry about all this. Truly. I would never have lied to you if I didn’t think it was for your own good. As for Baelish.” He frowned.

“Jon.” She whispered.

“He is a snake. A complete bloody fool for thinking we wouldn’t-“

“Jon.” She repeated.

“Everything I’ve done has been for you.” He said. “Not to sound like this is a soap opera or anything but I’ve only wanted to protect you. Joffrey-”

“Jon!” Sansa half shouted, offering a small, pale hand to him. “I wont forgive you.” She whispered. A knife of pain went through him at her words and for a moment he was not sure how to breathe. “I wont forgive you because there is nothing to forgive. I love you.” She said, her eyes glassy. “I love you more than anything in this world or any others.” She said. “I hate to see you in such pain. I just want…”

“What?” he asked. “Anything.”

“I just want you to hold me for a while.” She whispered. Jon crossed the balcony in one stride and enveloped her in his arms, pulling her flush against him. With one hand he stroked her long hair while with the other he unbuttoned the buttons on his coat and pulled it around her so that it cocooned around them.

“Tell me it’s all going to be alright, Jon.” She whispered, the sound slightly muffled by his coat.

The feel of his warm breath on the top of her head was soothing and the smell of soap and aftershave on him was intoxicating. His neck was smoothly shaven and soft as marble as he bent his head to kiss her, her hands wrapping around the curve of his neck.

“Everything is going to be alright.” He repeated. And in that moment, with Sansa in his arms and the moonlight spilling over her skin in such a way as to make it appear as smooth as porcelain, it was.


End file.
